WIENER WIENER WIENERIs it silly and pointless to discuss the title of “best athlete in the world”? Yeah, it is. But I will say this: If someone put a gun to my head and forced me to name the best athlete in the world, I’d say Brock Lesnar’s name about 30 times before it ever occurred to me to mention someone else.

Last night, he arm-triangled the life out of Shane Carwin, who was supposed to be the guy, finally, who Lesnar couldn’t push around. He was as big as Lesnar, hit as hard as Lesnar, and like Lesnar, had an outstanding wrestling pedigree. By a wide margin, he was also the more experienced fighter, having worked his way up from the smaller promotions and came into the fight with a sparkling 12-0 record.

And Lesnar beat him. With a freakin’ arm triangle, of all things.

But last night’s fight isn’t what I want to talk about. Lesnar the MMA fighter isn’t even what I want to talk about. Lesnar the phenomenon, Lesnar the baddest man on the planet, Lesnar the insane athlete you really should make an effort to watch because guys like this don’t come around very often … that’s what I want to talk about.

Let’s take a step back, and big picture, look at everything this guy has done athletically.

At the end of his high school wrestilng career, he didn’t get a single scholarship offer. So he took the Junior College route. As a freshman, he was an All-American. As a sophomore, he was national champion.

I’m thinking someone should’ve probably given him a scholarship.

From there, the Minnesota Golden Gophers did bring him in, but how would Lesnar do against D-1 competition, particularly in the powerful Big 10? As a junior, he was runner-up for the National Championship. As a senior, he won it.

Again: No scholarship offers out of high school.

After college, he got into pro wrestling, which is a damn shame, because it took a massive toll on his body, and that time could’ve been spent doing something else truly amazing. Fortunately, though, the WWE career only lasted three years. Lesnar quit because he felt like he wanted to play in the NFL, despite the fact that he hadn’t played a down of football since high school.

Let’s pause and think about that for a second. To start with, playing defensive line in the NFL pretty much requires you to be one of the chosen few genetic lottery winners on earth. On top of that, all the other genetic freaks out there have been working non-stop for the last seven years on their technique, and their knowledge of the minute details of the game, while Lesnar was … I don’t know, powerbombing John Cena.

Do you know anyone who could quit their job right now, and go have a reasonable chance of making an NFL roster? Can you even think of any pro athletes who could leave their sport and make an NFL team? No names are coming to my mind, and if there were, they’d also be guys who belonged in the conversation for “best athlete in the world.”

Lesnar came up just short of the NFL. He was one of the last cuts for the Vikings, and afterwards, they asked him to go the NFL Europe, get some seasoning, and then come back and try to make the team again.

That he even got close to the league is silly. Pro football is the chosen sport for the world’s best big-man athletes, and only the best of the best ever get close to the NFL. Lesnar damn near made it, pretty much on a whim, and probably would have gotten there if he’d have been willing to spend a year in Europe, away from his family.

Instead, he chose MMA and despite once again having zero experience and going against guys who have been doing it their whole lives, he very promptly became the World Heavyweight Champion.

He lost one fight — his first in the UFC — and since then, has owned the heavyweight division. He beat up workhorse veteran Heath Herring, took the title from legend Randy Couture, and avenged his loss to Frank Mir.

Which brings us back to last night’s Carwin fight. Lesnar hadn’t fought in a year due to a serious illness, and in his first fight back, he beat Carwin, who had mowed through everyone else in the division. And not only did Lesnar beat him, he answered two questions everyone still had about him: What would happen when he faced some adversity in a fight, and could he win with skill, as opposed to just sheer size and athleticism?

It wasn’t the prettiest win you’ll ever see, but it was still an amazing performance. If not because of who he beat, how he beat him, or what he overcome to get there, then because it was still just his sixth professional fight. He’s still a relative babe in MMA, and right now, there’s not a heavyweight out there who can touch him.

What Lesnar is doing is sick. It doesn’t make sense.

What he did in college — going from zero scholarship offers to national champion — was sick and didn’t make sense. That he stepped right out of the world of piledrivers and boston crabs and nearly made an NFL roster — that didn’t make sense, either. That he got into MMA in 2007, was the world champion in 2008, and is the baddest man on the planet today, again, doesn’t make one damn bit of sense. These are not things that normal human beings can do.

Brock Lesnar is a special athlete. I don’t know if the general public will ever recognize him as such, because he’s an ex-pro wrestler in a sport that’s still on the periphery of the mainstream and still misunderstood by many. I don’t know if there’s anything he can do about that.

All I can tell you is that when I watch Lesnar, it feels like I’m watching something special — like I’m watching one of these athletes that doesn’t come around very often. The guy that comes to mind the most when I try to think of someone to whom I can compare Lesnar is Bo Jackson. I felt like Bo had the natural ability to be great at damn near anything. He was a rare and special guy, even when standing alongside the best athletes in the world. I get that same feeling when watching Lesnar.

SoccerTrim.jpgThat was a lot of fun. I liked watching the United States team scratch and claw their way through the World Cup, and I think a lot of you did, too. In fact, I know you did.

About 15 million of you watched us play Ghana on TV, and I’m sure a great deal many more cared in some way about what happened. Check out this PostmanR article on ESPN.com about the interest in the World Cup. Landon Donovan’s goal against Algeria tore Twitter a new one. People were into this. It came in varying degrees, I’m sure, with some of you caring in that brief, fleeting “I hope our kids beat Taipei in the Little League World Series” way.

But I think there were some of you who found yourself caring a lot more than you thought you would. We tied England and you thought, “Hey, we might not suck too bad at this, and anytime I can enjoy leaving a smug Brit feeling suicidal, that’s something I’d like to be a part of.”

Then came the oh-so-dramatic Donovan goal against Algeria, and how could you feel anything but bliss? The stakes and the timing made it about as dramatic as sports get, and you’d have had to have a heart made of stone to not feel a little bit of something right there. Maybe it was joy, maybe it was pride, or maybe it was something just like you’ve felt during other great moments of fandom in your life.

Admit it, you really wanted us to beat Ghana. We’d have had a fighting chance against Uruguay or South Korea, and if we’d have gotten to the semifinals, who knows? At the very least, it would’ve been a hell of a ride there.

I think you wanted it. I think you came into the World Cup without even considering the possibility that you’d invest in it emotionally, and then you did.

Do you know what that means?

It means that you could like soccer.

If this World Cup has convinced me of anything, it’s that the general sports-watching American public can enjoy soccer. It’s not a boring game. It’s not too low-scoring. It is not unmanly or un-American. It’s a fine sport, as enjoyable as football, baseball, basketball or anything else.

By and large — and I realize I’m painting with a pretty broad brush here — I think the United States has failed to embrace soccer because we never felt like we were any good at it. If you can’t win, why play, right? Let other countries fight over the silly little game where you aren’t allowed to use your hands. We’ll stick to things we invented and can dominate.

But we’re decent now, and that changes things. We’re not a pushover for a single team in the world. Not for England, not for Brazil, not for France, Italy, Holland, Argentina or anyone else.

No one’s saying we’re as good as those countries, of course, and we might never be. But we can compete. We can envision a day where our name can fit in right alongside anyone mentioned in the previous paragraph.

I think, over the last two weeks, you’ve found that that idea appeals to you. If we can compete at soccer — if we can have moments like Dempsey’s goal against England, the furious comeback against Slovenia, and the glorious release of joy against Algeria — then yes, this game is just fine. It is perfectly enjoyable and exciting.

On top of that, soccer offers a bonus that almost no other sport can: the chance to support an underdog on an international level. Even if the future of US Soccer reaches the most optimistic of projections, we’re still going to be viewed as underdogs for a long, long time. And well beyond that day, if it ever comes, the traditional European soccer powerhouses will still be looking down on us. Not even our awesome steroids can help us here. We’re fighting an uphill battle for a long, long time.

If you like what you’ve seen over the past two weeks, I encourage you: Stick around for a while. Not just for the World Cup, but for European club soccer, for the MLS, and for local high school and college soccer. Give it a chance. Breathe it in for a bit, and see how it makes you feel.

Support breeds success, success breeds more support, rinse, repeat, and the next thing you know, we’re a much stronger soccer nation because of it. And the next time we play England, we don’t celebrate a tie. We bend them over, and we jam it in.

You can like this game. You know damn well that you can.

Hello, person who still visits this site … thank you for not updating your bookmarks.  I appreciate it.

If you didn’t know, I’ve left the FanHouse, and am now bringing the straight blog filth over at Yahoo!.  You can find me here on the NFL tip, and sooner than later, also on the College Basketball tip over there.

One day in, I’m finding the Yahoo! audience to be a lot like the FanHouse audience, except way
more sensitive about multiple personality disorder
.  Of course, there’s always the possibility that all of those comments are from Herschel Walker … or maybe, upon further review, I wasn’t sensitive enough to a serious illness.  I dunno.  I didn’t think it was that harsh.

Anyway, if I manage not to get fired before then, I’ll be doing some cool stuff over there in the coming weeks.  Perhaps you’ll join me.  If not, YOU’RE A DIRTY MOTHERFUCKER.

Whew.  That felt good.  Cleansing.

WOOF.Joey Porter is accused of punching Cincinnati Bengals tackle Levi Jones near a blackjack table in Vegas’s Palms Casino. themightymjd.com has obtained security footage of the fight, and we present to you here the transcript.

Levi Jones: Congratulations on that contract you signed with the Dolphins, Joey. I’m sure the Dolphins will turn it around real soon.

Joey Porter: Whatchyou mean, WILL turn it around? Motherfucker, the Dolphins turned it around the second my pen hit that contract. Joey Porter turnd that bitch around RIGHT NOW just by showin’ up.

Levi Jones: Sorry man, I was just… I’m sorry, okay? Let’s play some blackjack.

Joey Porter: No, I tell YOU when we play some blackjack. I tell EVERYBODY when to play blackjack.

Random Guy (to dealer): Seventeen? I think I’ll stay.

Joey Porter: NO, I DON’T THINK YOU WILL. (Porter grabs the man by the shirt, lifts him off his stool, and kicks him in the rearend.) NO, I think you gonna GO, OLD MAN. Go on, get on outta here. Go wash my car, motherfucker. It’s the black and gold Hummer H2 with the license plate that says, “K2ISAFAG.”

Random Guy: It’s black and gold? I thought you played for the Dolphins now. Aren’t those the Steelers’ colors?

Joey Porter: No no no… Them’s JOEY PORTER’S COLORS. When I left, the Steelers changed their color to PINK. VAGINA PINK. The Dolphins wear black and gold now, and the Steelers jerseys are the color of your wife’s pussy. In fact, where is that bitch? I’m takin’ her to Sherwin-Williams right now, put her coochie on that machine, and Sherwin’s gonna match that color exactly. That’s what the Steelers is gonna wear next year.

Random Guy: Listen, I’ll wash your car if you promise not to kill me, but… I’m sorry, I can’t let you take my wife to Sherwin-Williams so they can color-match her vagina.

Joey Porter: FINE. Then they GONNA COLOR-MATCH LEVI JONES’ VAGINA (Porter kicks the air).

Levi Jones: Joey, come on, man. Calm down. If you want to stay here and insinuate that I have female genitalia, fine. But leave that old man alone, okay?

Joey Porter: Leave him alone? Don’t EVEN come at me with that shit. You think Jerramy Stevens left Joey Porter alone before Super Bowl XL? HELL NAH. But I went out there and busted some motherfucking asses anyway. Don’t NOBODY leave Joey Porter alone, everybody ALWAYS HATIN’. But I’m champion anyway. ALL Y’ALL DO IS HATE. WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!

Levi Jones: Here he goes with the fucking barking…

Joey Porter: WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!

Random Guy: How long is he going to be doing this?

Levi Jones: Sixty minutes. Maybe more.

Dealer: Do you think it’s okay if we play blackjack now? I’m going to get fired if I don’t deal.

Joey Porter: WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!

Levi Jones: You probably shouldn’t.

Dealer: Can’t you do something? Calm him down, maybe?

Levi Jones: Joey. Hey, Joey, listen. Joey? (taps Porter’s shoulder)

Joey Porter: I’MMA SOCK YOU IN YO’ MOTHERFUCKIN’ EYE. (Porter then socks Levi Jones in his motherfucking eye.)

Levi Jones: (rubbing his eye) God DAMMIT, this gets old.

Joey Porter: Don’t you NEVER disrespect Joey Porter’s shoulder. YOU AIN’T WON NO SUPER BOWL. I’m a WORLD CHAMPION, and you ain’t nothin’ but a mark-ass, playa-hatin’, dog food eatin’, tiger-stripe wearing tub of GOAT SHIT.

Dealer: Man, he’s changed since he won a Super Bowl.

Joey Porter: You got that wrong, white man. I didn’t win the Super Bowl, the SUPER BOWL WON JOEY PORTER. The Super Bowl was LUCKY ENOUGH to have #55 grab that cheap-ass chrome trophy. I use that motherfucker as a HOOD ORNAMENT. I clean my GUTTERS with it. I got a female pitbull that uses that big silver bitch as a dildo, and the ghost of Vince Lombardi SMILES EVERY GODDAMN TIME IT HAPPENS.

I don’t know if that was his wife that was so excited about it… but that guy got to see both of her perms that night.

I’m not the kind of guy who wants to tell anyone what to do with their body, but… well, I think it’s weird to get a picture of someone permanently inked to your skin when that person doesn’t know or like you. That’s just me.

Anyway, SI.com has a gallery up right now if the most insane tattoos that their readers have. All of them were sort of jaw-dropping since they’re, you know, sports tattoos, but a few stood out. I didn’t believe this one was real:

As punishment, he should actually have to.

But it is. I don’t know if the statement on the man’s head is actually true, but it is a real tattoo. A radio station gave him Laker playoff tickets to do it. The same guy, on the same radio station, has also been tasered by Game, had mace squirted into his eye, and eaten worms. Shaq should probably sue this guy. I mean, I wouldn’t care if someone started a rumor that I did a guy, but I’d be highly offended if it was that guy.

Among the other highlights: the Bears with with Buddy Ryan’s signature inked into his back, the guy with a portrait of Mike Tyson with the words “TEAM TYSON FOR LIFE” under it, and two older soccer fans with tattoos on their hairy chests. Those two, I actually sort of respect, because I have no doubt that those gentlemen would kill (and have killed) to defend the honor of their teams.

I didn’t see it, I’m sorry to say, but from what I can gather, yesterday’s Carling Cup final between Arsenal and Chelsea was kind of a humdinger. First, John Terry nearly fucking died. He was kicked in the head as he dove at a header off a corner kick… maybe “almost died” is an overstatement, but he swallowed his tongue and needed oxygen on the field. I’d mention the stretcher, but you get a stretcher ride in soccer if someone gives you a wet willy.

It’s not only bad news for Terry, as he’s battled injury problems all year long (edit: Terry seems to be okay, and will likely play the next game)… but it’s bad news for soccer, because now everytime someone takes a dive, they’re going to demand the oxygen and a neck brace, or no one’s going to buy it.

There was also a bit of a fight. Observe:

I guess that qualifies as a fight. Toure hits the guy, followed by the briefest of pauses as both men think to themselves, “Holy fuck, we’re fighting… so we really wanna do this?” And it continues from there, with some very serious pushing, jostling, and calling each other “bloody wankers.”

Chelsea won, I’m sorry to say. Two Drogba goals did it for them.

The Chargers filled four positions yesterday. First, at head coach, they brought in Norv Turner (whose position is, I believe, listed inaccurately at Wikipedia). As defensive coordinator, they brought in Ted Cottrell. As linebackers coach, they brought in Ron Rivera. And in a completely unexpected move, the Chargers hired a Mexican day laborer name Pablo to kick me in the pancreas seventeen times a day. I’m looking forward to it.

I don’t know what to tell you here… it’s Norv Turner. Norv is like Ann, George Michael’s girlfriend on Arrested Development. There’s no reason to ever remember or think of him, until someone brings him up and you go, “Him?”

Anyway, I’m trying to be optimistic about things. Maybe, you know… maybe Troy Aikman’s right, and Norv will be a fantastic head coach. Maybe he’s not a loser, through and through. Maybe Norv has some kind of an inner winner that none of us know about. I’ve come up with three reasons for optimism:

• Unlike Marty Schottenheimer, Norv doesn’t have a reputation for sucking balls in the playoffs. Of course, that’s because he hasn’t had a chance to build such a reputation. He’s only been a head coach for one playoff game (which he did lose). But the fact remains, Norv does not have a reputation as a playoff loser. Just regular season.

• Norv has never taken over a good team before. In his two previous head coaching stints, he took over a Redskins team that went 4-12 the year before. With the Raiders, he took over for a Bill Callahan team that… well, they were coached by Bill Callahan. Maybe he’s got a special gift for taking over good teams, but is terrible at taking over bad teams. Plausible.

• I did enjoy the time he spent with the Chargers as their offensive coordinator… and I think both Phil Rivers and LaDainian Tomlinson will benefit from his being there. Honestly. As long as they don’t want a “winning record.”

That’s all I could come up with. I honestly am trying to keep an open mind about this. I didn’t want Marty to be fired, and I didn’t want Norv to be hired (and yes, I’m on a first-name basis with both of them), but it’s not like I have any say in the matter. My search for reasons for optimism will continue.

Like Tim, it's the harder way...I’ve spent about a week now talking about Tim Hardaway at the FanHouse, and on Deadspin. He said he hates guys who are down with the dong, and I really put a lot of time and effort into slamming him for it. I got carried away. If you missed any of it, here’s the “Tim Hardaway is an Asshole” anthology, in chronological order.

Tim Hardaway Did Not Spend Valentine’s Day With a Dude
Hardaway Apologizes; Amaechi Appreciates the Honesty
Tim Hardaway Loves to Stay at the YMCA
Tim Hardaway Has Been To a Gay Bar
The Maloof Brothers Wouldn’t Employ a Homophobe
Because This Had To End With Tim Hardaway Being Nude On YouTube
Tim Hardaway’s Gay-Friendly Car Wash

And then I read the second leg of his apology, and I started to feel a little bit bad about it. His second stab at saying he was sorry was much better, and seemed much more sincere. And after a weekend of hearing Charles Barkley and Kenny Smith say Hardaway’s a good guy (though, clearly, Kenny has much left to understand about the gay issue), I should give him another chance. It is possible for someone to say they hate gay people, and still, deep down, be a good guy.

Here was Timmy’s second apology:

“I don’t hate gay people,” Hardaway said. “I’m a goodhearted person. I interact with people all the time. … I respect people. For me to say ‘hate’ was a bad word, and I didn’t mean to use it.”

I buy that. And that should have been the first thing I thought, “Tim Hardaway doesn’t really hate gay people, he just got a little carried away when trying to express that he’s uncomfortable around gay people (which, you know, isn’t good, either… but doesn’t make him a terrible person).” But that wasn’t my reaction, my reaction was, “Let’s go write about what an asshole this guy is.”

I shouldn’t have done that. At least, I probably shouldn’t have done so much of it. Sorry, Tim.

Tim Hardaway is homophobic, Tim Hardaway is ignorant, and Reggie Miller was right when he suggested that Tim Hardaway probably needs some therapy. But I don’t believe he’s got a hateful heart … I don’t think Tim Hardaway sits at home and thinks, “These damn gay people are ruining the world, and I’m going to get them.” I think he’s just never been exposed to a lot of homosexuals, he’s confused and threatened by it, and he threw the word “hate” out there because he didn’t know how else to say it.

I think the NBA is justified in cutting him loose from NBA Cares, I think BaldGuyz is perfectly justified in firing him as an endorser, and I do still believe that Tim Hardaway, at his Grand Luxe Auto Hand Car Wash & Detailing Center should provide every gay customer with a free hand job.

Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, that one special day of the year where you’re required to spend hundreds of dollars on your lady in the hopes that you’ll buy the right things and she’ll let you bone her.

And for those of you who can’t think about what to do for your lady, I’d like to revisit this advice from Delonte West, as told to Page 2′s Louise K. Cornetta:

So Jim Jones pumping and then from there, wind blowing through the hair, boom, we get straight to the point — we eat afterwards because I don’t want to kiss no onions. I don’t want to kiss you tasting like onions and steak and mushrooms and everything …

Yeah, we’re going to my yacht. We’ll pull up at the docks and got a guy waiting for us, open our door up and we walk down a lit-up dock and onto the yacht, where we have dinner set up on the boat and we just cruise out on the water. Sit down and have some dinner, some shrimps and steaks, keep it nice and breezy. Pop some bottles, some Moet Rose. The red Moet, we ain’t popping no Kristal, it tastes like urination. We ain’t popping no Kris, that’s $500 a bottle. It ain’t that serious …

OK, so from there, we’re doing a midnight skinny-dipping jump. Alright? From there, hopefully she’s got money because I hope Jaws gets her, boom, make sure she got me in the will, bank, I’m good. Oh well, shark got her! Jaws got her …

One more thing: When we’re on the yacht eating, we’re going to have some Popeyes chicken. That’s for dinner. It’s to let her know, put a mental image on her mind, first and foremost, if you ain’t from the hood, you don’t like Popeyes chicken. Everyone there loves Popeyes chicken and the biscuits — phew. But that’s just getting it on her mind, saying, you know, ‘Yeah, I can wine and dine you, but I’m a little rough around the edges and I’m keeping it real with you. I can be romantic, but this is real, we’re going to eat some chicken tonight. Chicken and biscuits.

I will never ever get tired of reading that, and I will never stop believing that it is solid dating advice. Oh, and just to justify the use of the trim tag…

Mmhmm.

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